The poem of my heart
No
This trope
Meter-less; without rhyme
Absent the conceit, metaphor
Nothing, none
Not even ambiguous
Just simple honesty; open heart
Clear; to space, passed skies
Winter war is ending
Weak Clouds, and the wind escaping
Cold is gone; will get lost
As will I; all of us
Squirrels on branch
Flirt with germinates
But the dates, in kitchen
They are the immigrant
Morocco’s
They have seeds
Long, brown, hard to peel
Seeds are shy
Lonely, cry
They face the
Culture shock
Where to go?
Land is marsh
“Strange! ”
Seeds and I
And squirrels
And branch
And clouds
Chit-chat, talk
“What is right? ”
“Don’t buy dates? ”
“Throw, dump? ”
“Bury them, hell to laws? ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem